


Restless Skies, Stormy Seas

by RainySpringMorning



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka is involved in an accident that will change everything between her and Michiru.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless Skies, Stormy Seas

**Author's Note:**

> This work was simultaneously published on Deviant Art.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters Tenoh Haruka and Kaiou Michiru belong to Naoko Takeuchi.

The skies open with sheets of rain, pouring down and beating the sand black. The ocean swells and crashes on the rocks, cascading white foam spraying into the heavy gray air. Michiru tilts her head back, letting the rain mix with the tears on her cheeks, washing away the heat of her sorrow; she breathes the salty bitterness of the sea and embraces the press of the wet wind blowing into her hair and skirts, sweeping away her misery with a fiercely gentle caress.

But the reminder is sharp, tearing her heart into two.

Her scream of inner agony is lost on the boom of the waves.

~*~

The sweet music of the violin softens and fades, and the audience rises to a standing ovation that shakes the air with sound. Michiru bows in polite appreciation and crosses the stage as the curtain is drawn closed with a gentle sweep. She steps into the comfortable shadows of backstage and breathes at last, calming the trembling of her hands; she laughs softly, pleased and lightweight with confidence.

“Beautiful, as always.” Haruka steps from the cloak of shadows. Her smile is golden, wrapping Michiru in exquisite tenderness. Michiru extends her hand and Haruka takes it, bringing the pale skin to her mouth and pressing the ghost of a kiss to her knuckles. “Beautiful,” she repeats softly, and Michiru blushes.

“Haruka…”

“Shh…” Drawing her into the dark, Haruka pulls Michiru into her arms and dips her head, capturing Michiru’s lips with her own. Michiru can taste the sweetness of her desire and feels herself melt in her hold, buoyed by no more than her love. The sound of the wind rushes in tandem with the sea in Michiru’s ears. Haruka lifts her head and the corner of her mouth curls into a roguish smirk, bringing bright red spots high on Michiru’s cheeks. She chuckles at the sight.

“I believe I played well,” Michiru says, changing the subject.

“I have no doubt of that.”

“Oh?” she croons, smiling playfully and stretches onto her toes, cupping the back of Haruka’s neck and pulling her head down for another kiss. Their lips have only grazed when Haruka tenses slightly; drawing back and clearing her throat.

“Something the matter?”

“No… I, uh,” Haruka leans back slightly; the cloaked lights from the stage are faint but cast enough light across Haruka’s surprisingly scarlet cheek. Michiru can see the vague embarrassment playing with her slender blonde eyebrows, and she raises her own brow in question. Haruka clears her throat and she quickly takes one of Michiru’s hands. She can feel her pulse beating strongly in her wrist, perhaps a little too fast.

“Haruka?”

“Michiru, I…” Haruka pauses and clears her throat again. She’s looking more and more unsettled by the second. Michiru feels a flutter of concern and threads their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Michiru…”

“Tell me,” Michiru urges quietly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?” Haruka grins, suddenly at ease and in her own skin again. “I’m thinking of how lovely you look tonight. I’m thinking of how wonderful you look in that dress.” She stoops, breath on Michiru’s ear, lips touching her neck. “I’m thinking of how you’d look without that dress on.”

“Haruka!” Michiru flushes deep red and ducks her head, mortified that someone of the stage crew might overhear. But where they are standing is sheltered, unbothered. Haruka’s words are meant only for her ears.

“But I’m thinking of how terrible this world would be,” Haruka adds, her voice changing with sudden sadness, “if you were not in it. If… if our devotion to protecting this world consumed us to the point of obliteration. Michiru.” She looked up into the eye of the storm, the hurricane of her sea, unafraid and willing to sail into its center. “I’m thinking of how beautiful this world is because you are in it, and I long to join you in the world you’ve painted for me. I’m thinking of how much I love you… and how much I would like to spend the rest of my life following you into the unknown, because that is where I want to be.” Haruka shudders and lowers to her knees, hand still interlocked with Michiru’s. She reaches into her pocket and draws forth a small pewter band: Two waves in thrashing passion, curled securely around a glittering single blue diamond. Michiru cannot hold in her astonished gasp, fixated by the ring in Haruka’s raised fingers. She can see the undivided promise of her love shining there in her eyes beside complete and utter terror.

Unable to stand for a moment longer, Michiru crumbles before Haruka, eyes brimming with blinding crystalline tears. Haruka smiles and releases her hand, stroking the falling droplets with her thumb. “Michiru… Sailor Neptune…,” she says hoarsely. “Marry me?”

“Oh, Haruka!” Michiru exclaims, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. It is as though the weight of the world is pressing down onto her heart, threatening to collapse her into oblivion, but she has never felt so certain. Her head is nodding, mouthing incoherent words that are lost between wracking sobs. Haruka slips the band onto her finger – a perfect fit – and pulls Michiru into the circle of her arms, pressing her face into the loosening waves of her aquamarine locks.

~*~

“How far off are you?” Michiru asks, voice animated over the cellphone. Haruka lifts in her seat, looking at the choked triple lanes ahead and behind her. A flashing construction sign can be seen roughly half a kilometer away, where the neck of a large crane and several work vehicles are sitting, gradually letting vehicles through only a few at a time.

“If I stay here, I’d expect an hour or so.” A flurry of irritable honking sounds somewhere just ahead, followed by the muffled shouts of arguing drivers. “Maybe longer.”

“Well, dinner’s almost ready and I have to be at the theatre for six,” Michiru frets. “Can you… I don’t know. Can you turn around or something?”

“Michiru…” Haruka pauses mid-sentence. “No wait, I can see them clearing up ahead. I’ll be home soon.”

“You’d better-” Haruka winces as she breaks off Michiru’s amused answer; tucking her cellphone into her front pocket, she shoves her helmet over her head and guides her motorcycle between the vehicles, weaving carefully between the tightly-packed Toyotas, Hondas and Mitsubishis.

Suddenly, a door swings open and an adolescent girl, no older than six, leans out of the backseat of a Yamaha in pursuit of a stuffed pink elephant. The girl looks up with wide eyes, a shrill scream escaping her, the accompanying cries of her family in chorus with her shriek. Haruka, horrified, swerves sharply into the next lane and into the path of an oncoming speeding red Suzuki.

The collision is instant, a thundering bang of vibrating metal on metal. Haruka sees the sky, the pavement. Her helmet smashes off a trunk and the motorcycle slams her forward, pinning her legs against the bumper. The Suzuki is still coming, brakes screeching, wheels burning rubber. Haruka feels the bolt of white-hot pain lance up her spine, paralyzing her, smashing into the motorcycle and into her. Her teeth bite into her tongue with a rush of metallic blood as her vision narrows to a pinprick.

~*~

Light is white and blinding.

Life returns swift and merciless, choking Haruka awake. Something is covering her mouth and nose and she reaches up to tear it free, her lungs straining as she panics.

“Haruka, breathe!” Michiru cries, settling her flailing hands. “I’m here, relax. Breathe.” Haruka recognizes the feel of her hands and clings to the sound of her voice, letting her pull her free from the sinking depths of the bottomless pit. She opens her eyes, blinking rapidly at the brilliance of the light, and sees her face peering down; framed by chin-length aquamarine waves and creased with worry, Haruka calms as she stares into the deep depths of Michiru’s eyes and sighs a breath of relief. The air mask over her face is gently lifted and set on the pillow beside her head.

The beep of a nearby heart monitor and the smell of disinfectant tell Haruka all she needs to know, but still… “How long have I been here?”

“It’s been a week since…” Michiru’s lip trembles. “Since you were last awake.” Haruka has the impression it wasn’t a kind awakening, judging from the set of Michiru’s jaw. “The doctors didn’t know if you would pull through t-the surgery.”

“And is everything fine?” Haruka asks, struggling to pull herself into a sitting position. Michiru flinches, looking away. Haruka finds that her efforts are in vain, and that her legs are completely useless. “Damn, my legs are asleep. Did they give me painkillers or something stronger?” She ends on a chuckle, but notices Michiru isn’t smiling. In fact, she isn’t even looking at her. Haruka leans over and sees the shimmering trail on her cheek, refreshed by yet another falling tear. Concern clutches her like a vice. “Michiru, what’s wrong?”

Michiru rises from the bed and moves to the window, staring out at the cityscape. The sound of busybody traffic is distant, less so than the typical hospital sounds outside of the room. Haruka feels cold and her voice sounds so too as she asks, “What is the prognosis?”

Michiru shakes her head, hands pressed to her mouth. She glances at Haruka, face wet with tears, and bites her lip. Wordlessly, she looks across the room to the other side of Haruka’s bed, and Haruka’s head follows her gaze. The heart monitor announces the jolt of her pulse as concern promptly becomes alarmed horror.

The wheelchair sits idle, leather seat covered by a fine layer of dust. Haruka cannot tear her eyes away from it, even when Michiru takes her hand and murmurs soothing sounds. She is seized by a disturbed sense of building panic, as foretold by the increasing vocals of the heart monitor. “Haruka, please,” Michiru is begging softly. “The nurses will sedate you. Please calm down. It’ll be alright. I’m here. It’s okay. There’s still a chance-”

“A _chance?!_ ” Haruka roars. Michiru releases her hand and steps back, startled. Haruka grasps the water pitcher and flings it across the room, emitting a shriek from Michiru as it narrowly misses her, shattering into a thousand wet shards against the wall. She turns her searing gaze on Michiru, so churning with disbelief and ire that she is blind to the stark white slate of Michiru’s horrified face. “ _I CAN’T WALK?!_ ”

The nurses come rushing in, one to secure Haruka and the other to inject the sedative into her I.V. tube. Haruka’s rage has stifled to a rolling current of broken, pained mewling. The nurse places the air mask over her mouth again. She glimpses Michiru past the nurse’s shoulder, her hands over her mouth and bent double as she bobs uncontrollably, supported herself by a third nurse. Darkness lunges up and yanks her back down into a thoughtless oblivion, and away from Michiru’s tears of sympathy.

~*~

The cliff looks out over a vast valley, standing higher than the trees and even the mountains, parted in the center by a weaving river that shines silver out the vast indigo ocean. The sky is raspberry and gold; the air is warm with summer. Haruka flings herself off the cliff and spreads her great russet wings, hurling herself onto the currents of the wind.

She soars to the ocean, sparkling with white stars and bleeding with the sinking red sun. The sand is soft under her landing feet and she wiggles her toes in its fine white grains. The smell of salt and sweetness ensnares her senses and Michiru rises from the ocean, gliding up the sandbar, wrapped in the cloak of her abundantly long aquamarine hair.

Haruka reaches out and Michiru mirrors her, their fingertips touching lightly. Her wings rustle on her back, catching the ocean breeze, muffling out something Michiru says. Haruka strains to hear, but the rustling drowns her out, and the surging waves of the ocean rise high around her legs. She interlocks her hands with Michiru’s, trying to pull her closer, but her wings burst into clouds of feathers, their skeletal frames drying brittle and blowing away as dust on the wind. Her legs give out, sinking her into the violently surging water, and she watches helplessly as the ocean repossesses Michiru and drags her away.

~*~

The hospital room is dark, lit only by the blue light of the quarter moon, a luminous white orb shivering behind the curtains. The heart monitor continues to beep on night mode, increasing as Haruka stirs awake. She raises a hand to her face, feeling the slender plastic tube on her upper lip providing air, and the slimy tears under her eyes. She blinks, feeling the cold trail run down her cheek and soak into the hair by her ear.

Numb curiosity seizes her and she reaches down, sliding a hand down her stomach, where she still feels her hand. She reaches down further, gliding over her hip and thigh, but only feels the lightweight hospital blanket and the senseless legs beneath. She squeezes, pinches, even pounds, but there is no feeling. Bile rises in her throat, brought on my nauseating fear, but she confines it and returns to carefully feeling where all sensation of touch ends.

Exhausted by mere exploration with a single hand, Haruka sighs and settles more comfortably into the pillow, her eyes returning to the glow of the moon. She briefly imagines Michiru lit by that moonlight, her face caught in its radiant glow, blue eyes depthless and skin turned milk white, her hair a colourless cloud of spun silver. She feels the bite of longings but, more so, loneliness. The memory of the dream is there, at the edge of her mind, and she tries not to return to the horrifying feeling of helplessly watching Michiru be dragged away while she could do _nothing_.

“Michiru…” Haruka whispers, tasting the sound of her name on her tongue and piecing together the magnificent glory of her face in her mind; a jumble of instances that create her, never lying still as a single picture but as many – smiling and squinting in the sun; frowning in concentration over a music sheet; serene as she plays her violin; euphoric with pleasure in Haruka’s arms. Haruka’s lashes grow wet as emotion snatches her, closing her throat with its force, and she shuts her eyes to the moonlight, preserving the sensation of infinite love as sleep gathers her and carries her away to a dreamless sleep.

~*~

“Ready?”

Haruka nods once, face contorted into concentration, and grips the padded bars firmly. With a grunt of effort, she vaults her body upwards, straining to keep herself upright as she drags her legs beneath her, fighting to find her footing. She lowers her weight onto one leg...

“Gah!” The mats rise up under her as she collapses, deadweight. Her legs twist under her but she doesn’t feel them – dammit, she never feels them! Haruka slams her fist into the mat, fighting the burning tears and growls, “Again!”

“Haruka, sweetie…” the therapist begins but Haruka swings her head around, eyes blazing, struggling to sit up.

“I said I’ll try again!”

Michiru kneels in front of Haruka, extending a hand to rest on her shoulder. She looks up, seeing the worry in the wide sapphire eyes, and looks away with an irritated shrug. “Haruka, you’ve been trying for more than an hour. Why don’t you take a break and we can try again later?”

“If you’d lost your legs, you’d never want to rest until you felt them again,” Haruka snarls, uncaring to whether or not she’s hurt Michiru’s feelings with her acidic tone. “Now stop telling me what to do. It’s my legs!”

“Haruka, I didn’t mean-”

“No, I know what you mean,” Haruka looks away and takes a deep breath. Her arms shake with the effort to rise, and she can feel sweat soaking into her hair. “You just don’t understand. No one understands unless they’re dealing with it themselves.”

“I might not understand it for myself, but I know you’re suffering and that you feel broken. But you are, Haruka! And we’re trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your help,” Haruka spits bitterly.

“Oh, so then should I put myself in the same predicament so we can do this together? Is that the only way you’ll let me in?” Haruka can hear the undisguised anger in Michiru’s attack. She feels her heart crush when she sees her holding back tears.

“Michiru, don’t be an idiot.”

The lower lip trembles and the first tears fall. Michiru stands swiftly and brushes them away, clamping down on her whirling feelings. “I’ll leave you alone for now,” she says stiffly. “Good luck with your progress.” She whirls around and heads for the door, and Haruka watches her hair and skirt swing as she walks as fast as she can down the hall without running; Haruka doesn’t have to be near to hear her heart tearing in two, and she slams her fist on the mats again.

Hard.

~*~

The paintbrush slices across the canvas and arcs, ending in a swirl of despair. Michiru twists the brush with her body, following the flow of paint, slapping and striking colour across the flat surface, her hand occasionally mixing tears with strokes of paint. The violin music on the CD player is too loud, too grating, and she hardly keeps from smashing the entire device as she turns it off. She looks at the canvas, a palm pressed into her aching spine, and the pain of it suddenly makes her think of Haruka: Feeble and helpless, lying on those mats, soaked with sweat and making no progress. She can hear the bitter chime of her words; feel the bite of her barbed tongue. It makes her skin itch and her heart throb, and no amount of music or painting can banish the ghost of their argument.

Michiru returns to the canvas and, after a moment of consideration, takes it down and leans it on the wall. She picks up a new one and rests it on the easel, and stands back for a moment. Gathering a new paintbrush, she roughs out a buttery background of soft golden light, stroking in white rays of sun shafts. She dabs out a silhouette, adds hues of peach and red for skin, whorls of dusky blonde for hair, highlighted with cream and shadowed with browns. She rests the hand on the hip, clad in denim jeans with the cuffs rolled up, the feet bare, one knee bent and the toes supporting the weight of the leg. The other arm is raised, the hand caught in the hair, standing it up. The face looks out, turned away but the eye still visible above the angular cheek. The gaze is far, distant and in thought. She faces the windows, caught in the light coming in the windows just past sunrise, relaxed and casual. Standing on both feet, a moment from only days before when Michiru awoke and pushed aside the blanket. The image had been imprinted in the back of her mind, and now it stood before her, abstract in detail but partially lifelike. Michiru signs it and sits on the couch, and stares at her painting of Haruka.

“I’m sorry,” Michiru whispers to the painting, to Haruka. “I’m so sorry, Haruka. I wish I could have saved you from this. I would save you now if I could, but how? How can I save you if you won’t let me?” She squeezes her hands together and rests her forehead on them, tears running down her nose and staining her painting jeans with dark spots. “Let me help you.”

~*~

The telephone rings.

Michiru shoves aside the blanket and stumbles across the hardwood floor, hand extending to grab it off the wall. She muffles a yawn as she holds it to her ear and says, “Kaiou residence?”

“Kaiou Michiru? This is Dr. Shen at Juban Hosptial.”

“Oh, Dr. Shen. Good morning.”

“I have called to inform you that Tenoh Haruka is ready to be released this afternoon. We believe she is healed enough to return home… in her state, at least.”

“Oh, that sounds….” Michiru pauses.. She hadn’t been to the hospital since a week after their argument during therapy; Haruka had hardly spoken to her during her visit, and Michiru had let another week slide by. She doesn’t know what to do, other than to answer, “Yes, that sounds fine. I’ll come pick her up. Does she require any medications or treatment?”

“Miss Kaiou, I would like you to understand that the damage done to Miss Tenoh’s spine was severe. She may never walk again. Judging by her diagnosis and poor reception in therapy, it is certain that she will never walk again. Are her living arrangements suitable for navigating a wheelchair?”

Michiru casts a glance around the small flat, currently inhabited by dozens of half-finished canvases. “Err, yes. I will have to prepare the space for maneuverability, but otherwise, I’d deem it suitable.”

“Good. Very good. I will let Miss Tenoh know you will be coming to take you home.”

“Uh, of course. Thank you, Dr. Shen.” Michiru returns the phone to its cradle and stares at the numbers, absentmindedly counting in her head. She can feel panic budding at her core, but pushes it away. She _did not_ have time for anything more than her duty, which was no more than seeing Haruka home safe and sound. The back of her mind nags, still, as she sets about cleaning up and making sure there is enough space to fit a wheelchair; she falls into vacuuming and mopping the floors, and goes about dusting surfaces and scouring the bathroom before she takes a quick shower, scrubs her teeth, and flings on shorts and a hooded pullover.

Twisting her damp hair into a ponytail and tucking her feet into sandals, she grabs her keys and clutch purse and confidently leaves the flat.

Her confidence level drops significantly by the time she reaches the hospital parking lot, and she is trembling with nerves as she takes the elevator to the fifth floor, where Haruka is interred. She is shaking so badly that she needs to sit and practice breathing exercises before she can dare to touch the door handle; head in her hands, she has to casually wave away a worried nurse and a volunteer before she can stand.

She immediately finds Haruka, sitting in the wheelchair facing the window, her head tipped slightly to one shoulder. Michiru crosses the room and looked down at her, her heart softening at the sight of her chest rising in falling gently as she dozes in the warm sunshine. Her hair is struck with gold highlights. Michiru looks at Haruka’s legs, folded neatly under a knitted blanket. She looks so remarkably peaceful; Michiru cannot bear to disturb her and settled for occupying one of the chairs in the corner, where she contents herself by reading a pamphlet about home care services, keeping one watchful eye on Haruka for any signs of her waking up.

A half hour passes and Michiru is beginning to nod off herself when Dr. Shen comes into the room and spots Michiru. Smiling, he sits in the chair beside her and hands her a checkboard, where she must sign several release papers. He explains what kinds of medication he is prescribing and the kinds of activities Haruka can partake in to remain fit and healthy. He suggests she visit a therapist to continue strengthening her muscles, and to not let go of the hope that she may still yet walk.

Michiru listens to this all with a smile plastered on her face, nodding when she must and agreeing when she thinks she should. Inside, she is in turmoil, fearing for the future.

“Let’s wake her up then and give her the good news,” Dr. Shen smiles kindly and Michiru, unable to do much more, simply nods. Her fingers clench the pamphlet as she watches Haruka’s head rise slowly, and she stares glassily as that head turns her way, the eyes of a stranger holding her stiller than the calm blue sky.

~*~

“What would you like for lunch?” Michiru asks from the kitchen, where she is mixing a jug of lemonade. She looks up when Haruka doesn’t answer and the spoon clatters noisily. Haruka is staring at the painting Michiru had left covered in the corner. Michiru swallows and casually asks, “Find something you like?”

“What is this?” Haruka is hardly hearable and Michiru, taking a deep breath to calm her fluttering stomach, pretends she hadn’t heard her. She checks the baking lemon loaf in the oven and says aloud, “A few more minutes…”

“Michiru.”

It’s the tone of her voice that still Michiru. She looks at Haruka, who is looking at her. Her face is blank, devoid of all thoughts or emotion; a canvas, ready to be painted with primer and colour. Michiru’s eyes slide past her face to the painting and she looks back, cheeks reddening. “It’s just a painting.”

“Of me.” Haruka wheels across the room to her, face carefully masked. “I saw the date.”

“Like I said,” Michiru mutters, turning away. “It’s just a painting.”

Haruka grabs her wrist and turns the hand palm upwards. Michiru cannot bear to look, for fear of losing her grip. Haruka pressed her lips to the pulse point, nuzzling the skin with such tenderness that it brings a gasp of longing to Michiru’s throat. “Haruka…”

“I’m sorry,” Haruka says. “For what I said to you. For how cold I was. It was wrong of me.”

“Haruka-”

“You deserve only kindness. Michiru…” Haruka looks up, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Michiru, I’m going to stay with Setsuna.”

Michiru’s head whirls, eyes round with surprise. “Why?”

“I…” she breaks off, voice choked. “I can’t bear to see how you look at me. I know I’m less of a woman than I used to be-”

“Haruka, no,” Michiru says in horror.

“I see it in your eyes every morning and every night and it’s _killing_ me. It’s killing me, Michiru.” Haruka hardens and releases Michiru’s hand; it falls to her side, senseless and cold without her touch. “I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. I’ll find my way. You will find yours, and someone who is worthy of-”

“Stop it!” Michiru cries, sinking to her knees. She pillows her face on Haruka’s knees – her bony, unfeeling knees – and sobs in despair. “Haruka, I love you. I want to be here for you. I want to help you.”

Haruka reaches out and cups Michiru’s cheek, stroking the wet skin with her thumb. “Beautiful, as always,” she whispers solemnly. Dropping her hand, she wheels backwards and out of Michiru’s reach. “I’ve made the arrangements with Setsuna. She’s picking me up in a few minutes. I…” she pauses, steadying her wracked voice. “I’ll miss you, Kaiou Michiru.”

Picking up a bag she’d never noticed, Haruka leaves the flat with a click of the door, and Michiru folds her arms around her middle as she submerges into heartbroken tears.

~*~

The boardwalk boards thud under the wheelchair as Haruka idly rolls forward, enjoying the rising wind coming off the ocean. A storm is brewing and the ocean is in turmoil, gray and choppy. There are only a few people on the sands, mostly couples walking. A droplet of rain splatters on Haruka’s hand and she glances at the sky, dark with clouds.

“The ocean is restless,” the voice says behind her. Haruka turns the wheelchair and sees Michiru, eyes as blue as the bottomless sea, mysterious as the deepest trenches. Her hair and clothes billow around her, alive with the rough breath of the wind.

“What do you want, Michiru?” Haruka asks gruffly. They haven’t spoken in four months.

“For you to ask me something,” Michiru says, coming closer. Haruka tenses, instinctively curling to protect herself. But it is not her body in fear of pain; it is only her heart. Michiru sees this and stops, turning sideways and looking out at the sea. Her hair whips back, aquamarine locks curling gracefully.

“What am I thinking?” Michiru quotes, a sad smile curving her mouth. “I’m thinking of how much I miss our companionship. I’m thinking of how much I pity you, not for your legs, but for the fact that you cannot let me in without fearing what I think of you. I’m thinking of how much I’ve come to resent you and that you let selfishness rule your heart. I’m thinking of how much I l-love you…” her voice breaks and she looks at Haruka, smiling. “I’m thinking of how horrible this world would be without you in it, and that I would follow you into the unknown without a doubt.”

Haruka’s heart squeezes. “Michiru…”

“And I’m thinking that I should have never, ever let myself love you as much as I did, because not being with you is like never having known real love,” Michiru concludes strongly. She wraps her fingers around the pewter band, shaped like two waves thrashing passionately, encircling a small blue diamond. She twists it off with a wince and brings it to Haruka, dropping it into her palm and closing her hands around it.

“I’m thinking…” she whispers with near savagery, “that the ocean and the sky never truly did have a chance.” Turning her back, she follows the boardwalk away, leaving Haruka holding the ring in engulfing remorse.

The skies open and the rains begin to fall.


End file.
